


Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance: A Waltz of Masks

by epsi10n



Series: Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Pre-Relationship, Reincarnation, Second War with Voldemort, Spy Severus Snape, ship at your own risk, three-sided war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsi10n/pseuds/epsi10n
Summary: Salazar Slytherin is reborn as Hermione Granger. With her new identity as a muggleborn girl and her old reputation in tatters, Hermione sets out to start a new life for herself, a resurrection for House Slytherin, and a renaissance for the whole of the magical society.Year 5: Voldemort has returned, weakened in support but not in cruelty or resolve. The Ministry buries its head in the sand, but the war has already started. In the shadow of a deliberately fabricated normalcy, three forces vie for power and struggle to survive.The dance begins.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/726612
Comments: 38
Kudos: 159





	1. Year 5: A Waltz of Masks

~sSs~

A Waltz of Masks

~sSs~

“Congratulations Salazar, apparently you have another heir.”

The portrait in green answered Albus with a single arched eyebrow. “... thank you?”

Standing before his desk in the Headmaster’s Tower, Albus shifted his feet. After Alastor Moody’s startling encounter at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, Albus had found himself scrambling for information. The proposal that Alastor had brought back could cost the lives of everyone in the Order if Albus was to place his trust incorrectly. Nevertheless, a breakaway cell from the Dark-Traditionalists was exactly what Albus had hoped to see. If they would stay neutral, fine. If they would help, better. It was undeniable that they had resources that complemented his own, and an alliance could give the Order just the edge they needed to overwhelm the Death Eaters. Before he could negotiate any sort of partnership, however, he needed to do a background check on their masked leader. 

Regrettably, a full month of inquiring through his network of contacts had been unfruitful, leaving her supposed ancestor’s portrait as his last and only lead. He hoped Slytherin was in a helpful mood. 

“No one knows where she comes from. Her lineage cannot be traced, but she’s able to use your crest.” This topic must be approached delicately. Albus knew from experience that Slytherin could on occasions be very generous with information, but only when it tickled his fancy to do so. Otherwise, Albus must keep a tight rein on the direction of the conversation or end up with nothing useful for his efforts at all. 

“You don’t seem awfully concerned. It does not surprise you to have a descendant appear randomly out of nowhere? I wouldn’t have taken you for the kind of men who - well. I suppose there’s no need to go into details,” coughed Albus, cutting himself off when he noticed the entire office falling silent as all the headmasters on the walls studiously pretended not to listen, “Surely you must have some guesses as to where she comes from?”

The other headmasters on the wall were still watching the Founder out of the corner of their eyes. One drawback of being eternally preserved in this hallowed room was to be stuck for eternity with a crowd whose only entertainment was salacious gossip. Albus almost felt bad for Slytherin. Nevertheless, he needed all the edge he could get. Perhaps a bit of social pressure could motivate the portrait to talk.

Slytherin slowly looked up from the quill that he was sharpening. “And do you go about asking all your acquaintances such personal questions, Headmaster, or just me?”

Albus shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t think there’s any harm in talking about it after a thousand years. No wife to accuse you of being unfaithful.”

The Serpent founder shrugged equally nonchalantly, almost performatively, as if he was completely impervious to the others’ judging gazes. There was a round of sniggering around the room. “Actually, I never married. No wife or lover to be loyal to.”

“So you were, what, unwilling to be tied down?”

“Perhaps.”

“I can see the appeal,” called a headmaster from the third row, “Free as a bird! Must’ve been nice. Bet you were popular at the taverns!”

“Popular, oh yes!” Gryffindor guffawed, “The barmaids loved him. Can’t imagine why, really.”

“Perhaps because I was the one picking up the tab?” suggested Slytherin snidely, “Despite you doing most of the drinking?”

“Hey,” protested Gryffindor, “maybe you did the paying, but _I_ brought in the business.”

Albus regarded Slytherin’s portrait levelly. _‘Really now. You’re not getting out of it that easily.’_ “Were you never in love?”

Slytherin stared back blankly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, almost as if uncertain. The sudden loss of words for the normally eloquent serpent lord was such a reversal that Albus didn’t know what to think. _‘Looks like I’ve touched a nerve?’_

Then Slytherin straightened his collar primly and theatrically. “Albus, at this point I ought to ask. What exactly _are_ your intentions toward me?”

Just like that, all the portraits on the walls were now pretending carefully not to look at Albus instead! 

_‘There goes my hope that social pressure would encourage you to volunteer information about your heir for the sake of controlling the conversation. Well played!’_ Albus hid his flush behind his beard. “The newest Venerable Mme. Slytherin has contacted me, Salazar. What do you know of her origins?”

Back to the direct approach, he supposed. Maybe it was for the best that Slytherin’s tone immediately swapped from teasing to businesslike. “What are her origins, and how can she exist, yes?”

“Exactly,” nodded Albus. “I need to make a decision on how to work with her. If you have any information on her, I need to know.”

“I see.” The portrait gave a brisk nod in return. “I propose a trade.”

“What would you want of me?” asked Albus, “I can install a third frame for you in a location of your choice.”

Slytherin raised an eyebrow. “Tempting, but not what I’m after. How about a more equal exchange?” 

“In what fashion?”

“I have questions of my own. I want answers for answers.”

“Is it information you want?” Albus frowned. “I can tell you about Lord Voldemort, your other heir. I will even answer any question you have about the first war. I cannot tell you about the Order of Phoenix. It’s not that I mistrust you.” 

“It’s not that you mistrust me, it’s just that you don’t trust me. Am I right?” 

“Please understand.”

Slytherin chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask about your battle plans or your group of vigilantes. I’d rather hear about what happened to you.”

“Me?” Albus checked himself. An easy joke about weight gain and lemon drops was on the tip of his tongue, but it would not help him now. “What do you want to know?”

“Somewhere between your graduation and your glowing application for the position of Transfiguration professor, you seem to have developed a hatred of ambition. And, to put it bluntly, a personal distaste for me.” Leaning forward, Slytherin steepled his fingers. “What I want to know is, why?”

“It’s nothing personal, Salazar. It’s a simple conflict of interest. My enemies are people from your house, led by your descendant. You cannot expect me to speak with you as freely as when I was a student with no ties.”

The portrait nodded. “Just politics, Albus? Nothing more?”

“Yes.”

“Then, now that my house is to be allied with you, you would be happy to treat them as friends?”

“I would!” insisted Albus indignantly, “Why wouldn’t I? If we are to enter an alliance, it will not fail because of me. You have my word, I will treat all my associates with the utmost respect-” 

Slytherin’s eyes shone with a silver, soul-piercing gleam. “I have no need for flowery reassurances, Albus. Just remember our deal. Honesty for honesty.”

Albus looked away. Honesty for honesty? The truth was that he really had wholeheartedly bought into Slytherin’s philosophy once - back when he was a bright-eyed student pillaging the library in search of knowledge and a sense of how he ought to apply his not inconsiderable talent. His ambitions led him to Gellert. And from there, a war.

Would he be _happy_ to treat his new allies as _friends_? The question was so deceptively simple, but to answer was a tall order. How could he give a complete, accurate, and truthful response when his feelings were too complicated to distill down to words? And even if he could, he was not about to pour out his soul to Slytherin for any kind of information. 

“I have not changed nearly as much as you think,” said Albus, “My new ambition is for there to be no war and no revolutionaries running unchecked ever again. That is all I have to say on the matter.” 

Slytherin regarded him in silence for a long time, then nodded once. “Very well.”

Standing, the portrait clasped his hands behind his back. “In that case, I will give you a simple, honest answer as well. You want to know how to handle my new head of family. I would advise you to treat her as you would treat me. She appreciates reciprocity and mutual benefits like I do. Deal fairly.”

“I see.” He supposed it was the most he was going to get for what he was willing to give.

But, on second thought, the portrait _had_ resolved a major doubt for Albus. The new Ven. Mme. Slytherin was neither going to be his friend nor his foe. Instead she was to occupy a space somewhere in between or outside of the dichotomy altogether. “Thank you. That was actually quite insightful.”

“Glad to be of service,” the portrait bowed. “And Headmaster, don’t try to play these silly psychological games with your new ally. It only makes you inefficient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to be back!
> 
> Wanted to explain the story tags: I tagged the ships in case it squicks anybody. But if you've been kind enough to follow me this far, you know this story has never been about pairings. The objective of the romantic subplot this year would be to explore Sally's journey to learn about relationships rather than to set her up with Severus. Please don't go in with any expectations. I hope you'll enjoy year 5 regardless!


	2. Chapter 2

“This isn’t looking good, Slytherin!”

Hermione calmly picked up the sheet of newspaper that had been tossed in front of her. “My condolences. I’m sure Karkaroff will be well-missed at Durmstrang. Was he a close friend of yours?”

“No, but that’s beside the point!” yelled Montressor Selwyn, “The point is that You-Know-Who is already mobilizing to punish deserters!”

Beside him, Cassius Avery made a mocking sound. “Yes, poor Karkaroff! Good thing we’ve banded together instead of playing hide-and-seek alone all across Europe, yes?”

“Avery, are you being deliberately frustrating -”

“Gentlemen,” interrupted Hermione. Rising from her chair, she gave the two co-overseers of the Neutral-Dark Faction’s security team a level look. “That Voldemort would attempt to crucify his former servants is not a revelation. We knew he would do it as a deterrent for his followers, and I doubt there is a single person in the Faction who would be surprised. I see no need for a strategic or tactical change at this time. That said, Selwyn, I appreciate you keeping abreast of Voldemort’s progress.”

“Oh I know there’s nothing we can do about it!” retorted Selwyn, snatching up the paper again, “I’m not saying we should go rescue Karkaroff. He can go hang. Just - don’t go thinking everything’s all charms and unicorns!”

“We know,” said Hermione earnestly, “nobody was in any danger of thinking it would be easy.”

“Good! I’m just saying,” huffed Selwyn, “Karkaroff mysteriously disappears, fine. But if, _or when,_ this happens to one of us - any one of us - you can bet people will be coming for your life if only to free themselves from their oaths. I hope you’re prepared, Slytherin. Good day.”

Hermione watched him Disapparate from her dining room with exasperation. 

Avery looked on as well. “Forever a pessimist,” he snorted. “Anyways, thanks for the lovely chat Selaine. You take care of yourself, alright?”

Ushering him out of her castle as well, Hermione unlocked the dining room door and picked up the paper that Selwyn had left behind. Though he was certainly the most … anxious, Selwyn was not the only one among the Faction who worried. It was understandable. Since the night of Voldemort’s return, the Death Eaters had been steadily growing in ranks as former fence-sitters and younger malcontents rallied to them. Severus had named only seven attendees at Voldemort’s resurrection including himself. She did not know their exact numbers now, but she did hear of Pike, Pyrite, and Montague being welcomed back into the fold.

She’d never expected it to be easy. Right now, keeping her allies confident was arguably as important as keeping them safe. That said, she had no cause to fear the possibility of mutiny as Selwyn had alluded… yet.

So far her summer had been going relatively well. Though Death Eaters were mobilizing and beginning to hunt down “traitors”, Voldemort had presumably chosen to go after the easy prey first. No member of the Neutral-Dark Faction had been targeted yet, though they waited with bated breath. The prevailing fear did have one sole upside: in a way it had galvanized the Faction, allowing Hermione to begin pushing forth initiatives that required personal sacrifices with no guarantee of profit. Businesses retooled their assets and production processes to make war supplies. Staffing levels increased as droves of aspiring potioneers, enchanters, and dark artificers were pre-emptively screened and hired despite the expense. A fund was set up to support it all. The war may be nearly upon them, but the Faction had to fully exploit every day that the Death Eaters spent cleaning house. Every card stacked in their favour could well be the one that would secure their victory.

To manage her increasing responsibilities, Hermione had needed to make excuses to her parents for her extended absence. Sometimes she was away for a book promotion event, sometimes she was visiting a friend. Generally she tried to be at their home for the evening hours so that she would not be missed. Though she was by no means a normal daughter, they loved her and family was a terribly precious thing, now of all times. 

Which made it all the more unfortunate that one of her friends had to sacrifice his. Last year, despite all her efforts, she had failed to dissuade Tristan Nott from returning to Voldemort. She had been prepared to lose a friend, but Theo had surprised her by accepting Mme. Slytherin’s offer of sanctuary. After Tristan’s final decision, it was an outcome for which she hadn’t dared to hope. She’d deliberated long and hard on the arrangement for Theo’s lodging and protection, but ultimately she’d given him free access to most parts of Castle Slytherin and a single-passenger portkey to leave and return if he must. She imagined the library should be enough to keep him occupied for most of summer. 

It was a risk, but she figured he deserved this much.

Theo had settled into one of the castle’s many spare bedrooms. Right now he was getting breakfast in the kitchen. Hermione took a second to put Selwyn’s newspage away, then Apparated down a floor to join him. “Good morning, Theodore.”

“Morning,” said Theo, putting down his apple to greet her politely. 

Hermione sat down at the other end of the simple wooden kitchen table and did a quick scan of the pantry for inventory. She summoned a cereal bowl to herself. “Find anything interesting in the library yet?”

“Loads,” he grinned, “Learned a new charm scheme yesterday. I think I finally understand how enchantment triggers are made! Whoever came up with the idea of using charms to modify other charms is a genius. I’m guessing this is how the so-called ‘undetectable’ magical artifacts work.”

“I believe so,” nodded Hermione, stirring her cornflakes in milk. “It should also help the enchantment last longer, but I’m unaware if anybody’s tested that theory rigorously.” It felt strange eating breakfast with him in her mask.

“Exactly! Sounds dead useful to me. But of course it won’t actually be completely undetectable, would it? There would always have to be at least one charm running in the background.”

“Let me know if you would like any help procuring material to experiment on,” offered Hermione. “A word of caution, however: not every author has been explicit in their safety statements, so please take care.”

Theo accepted this with a polite nod and went back to his apple. Hermione went back to her cereal in a comfortable silence. Lately she’d had to relearn how to act around him. As host it was up to her to keep things as informal as possible to put her guest at ease, but some distance must be maintained all the same. It would seem that shared academic interest might be the best way for Mme. Slytherin to build rapport with him. 

Not unlike how they’d first met, actually.

“Are you still planning to meet your friends today?” asked Hermione when they were both finished with their food. 

“Yes. We’re meeting at the Greengrass’s today.” Theo had not been entirely isolated during his stay over the summer. Blaise and Daphne had both sent him standing invitations to visit once they learned of his living arrangements, and Hermione trusted their families to look after his safety. 

“Very well. I have a few people to see as well. See you a bit.”

That was the routine they ended up settling into. ‘ _Strange new normal.’_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore arrived in her study precisely at the appointed time.

They shook hands. “Dumbledore,” smiled Hermione. “It’s good to see you again.” The last time they’d met had been in a room on the second floor of the Hog’s Head, where they’d hashed out the rough terms of the alliance. The bartender, Aberforth Dumbledore, had made no indications to what he thought of his brother’s use of his establishment as a meeting space for people too dangerous to allow into Hogwarts proper. She assumed they had some sort of arrangement. 

“Likewise,” said the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Turning, he peered around her study with curious, analyzing eyes. 

Hermione followed his gaze to the shelves of scrolls around the room. “Medieval tax records. Feel free to read them if you like, but I personally find them quite tedious.”

Dumbledore gave a warm chuckle. “Old records are each fascinating in their own way, but perhaps another time.”   
  


Hermione smiled back indulgently. As always, Dumbledore preferred to cloak himself in an air of benignity, hiding all his sharp edges behind the facade of an odd but endearing old man. It encouraged people to become friends with him without thinking too hard about the costs, and Dumbledore had habitually utilized this effect with great mastery.

One might call it a survival mechanism. Without his harmless public persona, she couldn’t imagine he would have a comfortable time walking among most of his own supporters.

Carelessly, Dumbledore tapped the back of the chair that she’d prepared for him. It pulled itself out, allowed him to sit down comfortably, and then moved itself back to the desk. “Let us go straight to business. You said you had vital information to share?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Yes.” 

Sitting down on the other side of the desk, she pulled out two memory phials. “What do you know about Voldemort’s horcruxes?”

Dumbledore’s jovial face slid into something more grave. “Only a suspicion that they exist. Can you confirm?”

Hermione slid the phials across the table, gesturing for him to take them. “I have found two: a diary and a ring. These phials contain my memories of their destruction,” she explained. “The fact that he was still able to resurrect points to the existence of more. The question is, what and where?” 

“Where did you find the two?”

“The diary I discovered through sheer luck. Its previous owner had found it among a stack of second-hand books, and was completely ignorant to its nature.”

“And the ring?”

“The ring,” sighed Hermione reminiscently. She did not wish to dwell on the diary horcrux with him, but there was no harm in being liberal with information regarding the other.

“I found it exactly a year ago in a hovel that was the home of what remained of the Gaunt family, under heavy curses and traps. Its original intended hiding place, I would presume.”

“Why did you search there?” questioned Dumbledore, encouraging her to go on with twinkling curiosity.

“I meant to learn more about Voldemort’s maternal family - I suppose they’re _my_ relatives too,” demurred Hermione. “It would seem that they’re all deceased now. The ring itself is a Gaunt family heirloom, however. You may wish to have a look.”

The ring was in a small pouch which she’d been keeping ready for this meeting. Taking it out of her drawer, she let the gaudy gold ring roll onto her desk. Dumbledore’s eyes focused sharply on it with unnatural alacrity. “The Resurrection Stone!”

Hermione nodded. “Cadmus Peverell’s masterpiece. You’ll find that it still works as intended. I’m actually quite amazed. Not many artifacts survive basilisk venom damage.” Gently, she drew his attention away from the black stone and to a small nick on the gold made by her dagger. “I can no longer detect any lingering magic from the horcrux, but feel free to verify for yourself.”

“May I borrow it to study?” asked Dumbledore. His voice, she noted, was now carefully pitched. “The magic imbued in the ring is so complex that it may be hard to completely distinguish new additions from the original weave. I will need time to do a deeper analysis.”

“If you wish,” accepted Hermione, allowing him to take the ring and tuck it carefully away. As expected, the ring had interested him most of all. 

Most everyone had one or two mementos from their past that they dearly wished to find. She saw no reason not to unite Dumbledore with his, if it would grant him satisfaction. Never let it be said that she was a stingy ally.

“I show you this ring because I believe it to be a clue,” said Hermione to recapture his attention before he could abscond for his office with the Resurrection Stone, “Voldemort chose to attach his soul to a childhood diary and a family heirloom. I wonder what other vessels he may have chosen. More mementos, perhaps?”

She’d kept an ear out for other Slytherin or Gaunt artifacts, but common artifacts numbered thousands and she was not aware of any truly significant heirlooms beyond the Resurrection Stone. Her hopes had been that as Tom Riddle’s teacher, Dumbledore might be able to shed some more light on what Voldemort would consider significant. 

The Headmaster stroked his beard. “Horcruxes… I must admit, I’ve been for the most part ignorant to their existence. But I will share what little I know in case it helps. The first sign of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s interest in horcruxes was in his fifth year as a student.”

 _‘That’s the age of the diary. It was likely his first.’_ Hermione nodded, indicating silently for him to continue. 

“In his fifth year, he approached another professor with an academic question about horcruxes. He wanted to know, hypothetically, how many horcruxes would be the most effective from an arithmetic perspective. The professor was disturbed by the idea that anyone would contemplate making even one, and told him as much. Voldemort apparently backed off without another word.”

“And how many did Voldemort want to make?” 

“It was a disconcerting conversation, but we had no reason to believe he’d gone any further than academic interest until now,” said Dumbledore, hastening to explain, “But since you say he’s made more than one… Voldemort argued at the time that the number seven had potency.”

Hermione frowned under her mask. “You suspect he made seven?”

“Seven pieces of soul. Six horcruxes, I suppose, with one inside his body.”

“Very well, I suppose that leaves us with four to find, give or take.” 

Dumbledore’s expression turned thoughtful. “If he’s been planning all this since fifth year, then surely he would have also made goals for which artifacts he’d want for his vessels. He would not have assigned them all impetuously. A set of four … an artifact from each of the four Hogwarts founders? He would not be the first to try to collect the set.”

Hermione considered the profile she’d made of fifth-year Tom Riddle from studying his diary. “I suppose I can see the appeal from the perspective of a fifth year, but I didn’t realize there was a set to be collected. Which four artifacts do you think he was after?”

“Well, I would assume he would pursue the founders’ most famous works. For Ravenclaw this would be the diadem of wisdom. For Hufflepuff, the chalice of healing. For Gryffindor, I imagine it would be the sword that he left at Hogwarts as his legacy, although I can safely say Voldemort has never been able to acquire Gryffindor’s sword. It’s in my custody still.”

“I can see that. And Slytherin? What is his artifact?”

Dumbledore peered at her with surprise. “The ancestral locket that was the only heirloom of material wealth owned by the Gaunt family, along with the ring you just gave me? I thought you would have come across it in your research.”

Hermione blinked. “The Resurrection Stone is an object of immense power and scholarly interest. It’s documented in grimoires, but the locket that you speak of is not.” 

In her privileged first life as a son of a noble house, she’d enchanted a variety of common trinkets for practice and experimentation. None of these “artifacts” held much sentimental or practical value, and she had an impression that she’d stowed the successes away in the family vault to be forgotten about. It would seem that one of those pieces had made its way all the way down to Marvolo Gaunt, but that didn’t give her any clues as to what it was. 

“Do you have a description?” she asked. 

“Gold, heavy,” supplied Dumbledore, “It has an ‘S’ written in small inlaid emeralds on the lid.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” promised Hermione. “As well as for the diadem and the chalice. But if Voldemort never had access to Gryffindor’s sword, then there’s still one horcrux unaccounted for.”

“Perhaps he has not created it yet? Voldemort is not the type of person to accept substitutes unless under great duress.”

“Maybe. Regardless, that’s further than I got on my own. I’m glad we can share our information.”

“Likewise, Mme. Slytherin. This conversation has been most enlightening. I will begin researching these horcruxes as well and update you on any significant findings. If Voldemort has really made six as we believe, their destruction would be critical to his defeat.”

They stood and shook hands again. Hermione watched the Headmaster Disapparate from her study, then steepled her fingers. 

The morning of information sharing had been largely fruitful and mutually beneficial. She didn’t doubt the credibility of Dumbledore’s information, and she could comfortably say she’d given him something new to go on as well. 

Nevertheless, she had an impression that the Headmaster had been far less ignorant to the existence of Voldemort’s horcruxes than he would have her believe. She could accept the suggestion of Rowena’s diadem or Helga’s chalice as a hunch, but the fact that Marvolo Gaunt had an ancestral locket could not have been casual knowledge. Moreover, Dumbledore claimed that his suspicions had been triggered by Voldemort’s unhealthy academic inquiries in school, but she doubted the other professor would’ve simply shared the conversation with him as gossip. It was more likely that Dumbledore had seen the need to prod and wheedle the information out of his former colleague.

There was a piece missing. Something had triggered the Headmaster to research and gather these bits of information long before today. Something that he was taking care to hide from her. 

But that was alright. She did not expect him to reveal all to her so early in their partnership. If it was truly something significant she was sure she’d find out eventually, one way or another.

* * *

Albus landed in his office gracefully, the Resurrection Stone a conspicuous weight in his left pocket.

Even in his wildest imaginings he had not expected to discover the long sought-after Deathly Hallow in such a manner. After all that had happened, he’d given up on uniting the three Hallows at all. 

Even in Slytherin’s charming office, he had wanted to take the stone out and turn it, just so that he could see Ariana again, just while he still had it in his possession. It was embarrassing that Slytherin had to call him out to focus on business. But she was right. His duty to the Order, the world, and the war effort came first. Family matters must wait. 

Opening up his Pensieve cabinet, he carefully unsealed Slytherin’s memory phials and viewed them one after the other. The diary memory was short, but crisp and vivid. The ring memory was longer and helpfully included the entire process of dispelling Voldemort’s protections. Both ended with the same act: an ornate athame stabbing into the horcrux vessel, followed by a writhing black smoke-like substance escaping from the cut with an ungodly wail. He had no doubt these were the soul fragments in the horcruxes. They looked eerily similar to the wraith that had attacked him in the corridor that held Philosopher’s Stone years ago. 

In retrospect, that incident should’ve been his clue to investigate what Voldemort had done with his soul. Unfortunately, his knowledge of horcruxes at the time had been sparse. He’d seen Voldemort’s wraith, but he’d figured it had merely been some further transformation that he’d applied to himself after becoming weakened by whatever happened that fateful night. 

He had been ignorant then. It was only after he discovered Harry Potter’s parseltongue ability that he began to suspect. 

He hadn’t dared to voice his suspicion that the poor boy may be one of Lord Voldemort’s soul vessels - not to Slytherin, not to anyone. How could he, when all sources indicate that the only way to kill a horcrux is to destroy the container? For the sake of avoiding unnecessary complications, this was one secret that he’d need to keep to himself. Slytherin already had enough information to be useful regardless. 

He was still surprised that she’d professed ignorance to the locket - _her_ ancestral locket, when the Gaunts should have ostensibly been the starting point of her research. She was also quick to accept his conjecture that Voldemort had split his soul in seven. It made him wonder if she already had an alternative source of insight into Voldemort’s psychology. Perhaps his own purpose in that meeting had been to provide validation, not information. 

It was also possible that she’d made Albus explain the locket as a test. In which case he ought to assume that she knew he was withholding something. 

Or perhaps her motives had been something else entirely. And here Salazar Slytherin would have him believe that dealing with his descendant would be straightforward negotiation. 

Regardless, his meeting with the new Mme. Slytherin had been fruitful. The news that two horcruxes had already been eliminated was a great relief, and her information had helped him deduce the vessels of three more. He may even have a hunch as to the hiding place of another. 

He did not doubt her genuine intention to cooperate and defeat Voldemort, and that would have to be enough for a start. Enough to introduce her to the rest of the Order. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Off to school again, huh?” asked Olivia Granger in the car. 

“Four years down, three to go,” said Hermione from the backseat. 

They were on their way to downtown London, where her parents would be dropping her off at King’s Cross on their way to work. Her father, Jean Granger, was whistling to the tune of the radio. 

It was nice. She had spent the whole summer dealing with magical politics, watching out for Death Eater movements, negotiating with Dumbledore, and negotiating with her own faction. Whatever remaining energy she had, she had committed entirely into self-training and projects that she knew she would not have time for once school starts. Very rarely were there moments like this when she could indulge in normalcy as if no crisis was imminent. A part of her was starting to miss these relaxed drives when she was just their daughter and nothing more. 

It was nice. Not completely true, but nice nonetheless. 

“You’ll wear my Christmas presents, won’t you?” reminded Hermione. “I made them just for you. Well, also for class. But mainly for you.”

“Of course,” chuckled Jean, pulling out the small amulet from under his shirt, “this is the prettiest good luck charm I’ve ever seen.”

“It better be,” harrumphed Hermione, “I spent forever on these.” Each of the two amulets her parents now wore carried several powerful wards, all set to activate upon triggers of mortal peril. When inactive, the background magic should be just low enough to fool a dark magic detector. 

Olivia whistled. “Good lord, wizard schools must be tough if this is what they have you do as homework! I remember what  _ I _ used to bring home from arts class.” 

Hermione ducked her head. “Ehe…I guess I might’ve gone a little bit overboard. But I got a good grade, and it was pretty fun!”

“Looks like we raised an artist after all,” said Jean. “First the novel, now these. And here we’ve always thought you’d end up a scientist.”

“I can be a polymath. Leonardo Da Vinci managed it.”

“I’m sure you can be anything you want. You  _ are  _ our daughter,” Jean Granger turned around, beaming at her proudly. “You’ll be of age in a year by wizard rules, right? Any thoughts as to what sort of job you want?”

“Nothing definitive yet,” Hermione shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I might not have a whole career path planned out, but I’m sure I’ll find something worth doing after I graduate.”

Dad’s smile softened a little. “In all seriousness though,” 

“Yes, Dad?”

“I’m glad you’re doing well in this new world that we can’t follow you into. You don’t know how much your mother and I wish we could help you more in the magical world, but you seem to have everything handled yourself.”

“We can discuss the boring stuff later!” Olivia jumped in, stomping on the gas to make a yellow light, “what about boys? Anyone  _ special  _ on your mind?”

“Er…” Springing questions like this upon one’s daughter should be illegal.

“O-oh, you’ve thought about it too long to be a ‘no’! We know your tells, sweetie. Come on,” wheedled Olivia Granger, “you can tell us!”

Hermione flushed. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just said no. All her classmates were children, and she wasn’t about to date any of them. Not Theo, not even Viktor. It wasn’t that she hadn’t bothered to search. There was simply nobody suitable in her current circle. 

_ ‘Except him…’ _

There were a good twenty years between them. But people would marry with larger age differences so long as the circumstances were right. She could’ve done with a worse match in her first life. 

Of course she was getting ahead of herself to even contemplate this much. Severus probably saw her as a student and nothing more. 

“We’ve all been there, haven’t we Jean?” offered Olivia, “Look, sweetie, we might not be able to help you through your magic school, but we know people. You know you can talk to us about anything.” 

“Fine,” sighed Hermione, bowing to her mother’s prowess in persuasion. “Let’s say there is someone. Suppose I like him. What do I do?”

“Why, just tell him you like him!” advised Jean. “Don’t be shy. Guys like girls who make the first move.”

“Alright, and suppose I don’t like him?”

“Then tell him to his face. Hit him with that stick of yours to get the point across if you have to.”

“Hm,” acknowledged Hermione. “But suppose I think I might like him, but I’m not sure?”

Jean scratched his head. “Er…”

“You could just be his friend and get to know him better,” suggested Olivia, “Feelings will sort themselves out. Even if nothing comes of it, what’s the harm?”

“Yeah, maybe,” In other words, carry on as she was already doing. “Thanks, mum and dad. I love you. You have a great year!”

The car slowed to a stop, and Hermione jumped off with her luggage in tow. She’d arrived early. As such, Platform 9 3/4 was not completely devoid of people but nowhere near as packed as it would be in another hour. Today it seemed the station was emptier than usual. Almost as if parents were particularly loath to part with their children. Shaking her head minutely, Hermione levitated her luggage into the Nocturne Group’s preferred carriage in the very front and gave the conductor a wave as she boarded.

“Sal!” greeted Terry from within the compartment, “Guess we’re first.”

“Yeah,” nodded Hermione, “The others might be a while.”

They sat down. Hermione opened the morning paper and did a habitual scan of the headlines. “Familiar names on pages 5 and 7,” said Terry, nodding at her newspread, “Karkaroff is still missing and Belarusian Aurors are still looking for him. And Crouch’s health took a turn for the worse. It says that he was committed to the psychiatric ward in St. Mungo’s yesterday. Oh hi, Anthony!”

“Hey,” greeted the other Ravenclaw, pulling his luggage into the compartment behind him. 

“How was Nova Scotia this summer?” 

“Pretty nice. Weather was good, we went lobster fishing, and my little cousins adored me,” said Anthony, “They had coverage about the Triwizard Tournament in the sports section over there too. They couldn’t stop asking me about it. I was like a minor celebrity by association.”

“Bet you knew all about the Beauxbatons girls,” snorted Terry. 

“Not just the girls, I’ll have you know,” Anthony thought for a moment. “They asked about Barty too. Not that anyone abroad cared too much about his Death Eater membership. They knew about You-Know-Who’s rebellion ten years ago but they don’t seem to be as afraid of him as we are.”

Terry gawked. “Rebellion? Is that seriously what they call it?”

“You-Know-Who never did have a big international presence,” shrugged Hermione, “I imagine it must be hard paralyzing more than one government at a time. Grindelwald only became known to North America after he took over over Germany.”

“Hm.”

Anthony kicked off his shoes to sit cross-legged on the bench. “Headmaster Dumbledore’s been saying that Crouch Jr. might’ve actually succeeded in resurrecting You-Know-Who. He owled my mum.”

“Yeah. I think he’s been owling all the parents.”

Over the summer, Dumbledore had been unrelenting in his efforts to make Fudge take the threat seriously. At first he tried to get ahold of Fudge himself, but when the Minister refused an audience he resorted to applying pressure through Fudge’s voter base. Judging by the continued silence from the Minister’s office, his lobbying did little to change Fudge’s mind. 

If anything, the relationship between the Minister and the Supreme Mugwump seemed to be at an all-time low. Fudge thought that Dumbledore was trying to create panic to undermine the public’s confidence in him - a silly idea, but understandable. Meanwhile, Dumbledore seemed almost intent upon shoe-horning himself into the role of “bad cop” and did not even try to feed Fudge a carrot or two to repair the souring relationship. Did he figure that Fudge was already too deep in the pocket of others to bother? Perhaps. It was not completely inaccurate.

Hermione folded up the newspaper and set it aside. 

Terry asked, “Do you think he’s right? Is You-Know-Who really back? The official word is still that Crouch Jr. is dead and Crouch Sr. imagined it all.”

“Hard to say,” said Anthony, “We know that Crouch got away, but he never managed to get Harry’s blood so who’s to say he succeeded? But Headmaster Dumbledore probably has some hushed-up sources of information. I’ll take his word for it.”

“Hullo,” said Blaise, sliding open the compartment door smoothly to let himself and Daphne inside. “What’s this about hushed-up information?”

“We were just talking about You-Know-Who. The Minister’s statement and the Headmaster’s don’t match up.” 

Daphne sat down beside Hermione and shuffled Anthony’s luggage to the side. “My mother believes he’s back, but that’s all I know.”

“Same here,” Blaise tapped his chin. “Speaking of secret information, there are only two of us who might’ve had the chance to overhear some. What’s been going on at Sirius’s place that’s so top secret, they had to censor Harry’s mail?”

_ ‘Vigilante effort to fight Voldemort.’  _ One other thing Hermione noticed over the summer was that the Order of Phoenix was very secretive about themselves and what they were up to. Dumbledore had been careful to tell her as little as possible whenever the group was brought up, even if just a second ago he had been freely discussing Voldemort’s probable activities. She had attributed it to suspicions about her background, but the same caution was apparently reflected in their interactions with Harry as well. 

It was why, despite the good feeling she had about their nascent partnership, Hermione had not pushed Dumbledore for an introduction to the rest of his team. She would meet them when the time was right, and not before. “We’ll see if he’s allowed to tell us in a bit.”

“And then there’s Theo,” Terry looked significantly out the window. The station was growing busy now, as parents hurried their children onto the carriages and then hung back to wait silently for the train’s departure. There were two thin figures among the crowd, deep in a conversation that no one else could hear. 

Hermione sighed inwardly. Tristan Nott looked like he had aged ten years since her dinner party. Over the summer he had sent multiple letters her way demanding the return of his son, to which she could only reply that no one was stopping Theo from leaving. He did not seem convinced. Nevertheless, there was no alternative. To leave Theo at the mercy of Tristan’s new master with no recourse was unacceptable. 

Once again her offer to house her friend over the summer was proving to be more complicated than it seemed at face value.

She did know that Theo had been writing to his father regularly. She also knew that he had refused all of his requests to meet until today, when the train station would be busy and filled with bystanders. For two taciturn people, she could only imagine how difficult it must be to say all that there was to be said within the span of a morning. There was only one more hour before departure. 

“Yeah, Theo. Looks like he’s been well.”

Suddenly, a small group of people appeared on the platform. Hermione identified Sirius by voice rather than by sight. “Off you go then, don’t get into  _ too  _ much trouble at school!”

“That’s rich coming from you,” said a young witch with strawberry-pink hair who Hermione did not recognize.

“I’m not like you at all, Sirius, I’m a model student,” said Harry’s voice cheekily. 

“Smartass,” Sirius laughed, lightly tapping Harry’s head with his knuckle. 

Moody was following them disapprovingly. “Stop playing around. Focus on watching your surroundings!”

“Yes sir, yes sir,” Sirius raised both hands in a surrendering gesture. “Constant vigilance -”

Perhaps because Harry was also heading for the first carriage, the path they took had resulted in Harry’s escort group passing barely two meters from the Notts. Sirius realized this and fell silent, as did the rest of the group. Hermione watched from her window as he casually dropped his hands and slid them into his pockets where his wand would be.  _ ‘Of course. Severus told them the names of the seven who faithfully attended Voldemort’s resurrection.’ _

But Tristan Nott didn’t even glance Harry’s way. He didn’t seem to realize who was there. 

Theo threw his arms around his father in a hug, his mouth moving to inaudible words. Eventually, he turned away and walked toward the train. Tristan’s eyes followed him to the compartment door. The train’s steam whistle blasted, and Tristan disapparated with a crack. 

Sirius’s posture visibly relaxed. “Be careful at school, alright?” he told Harry.

Harry smiled brightly. “Remember how we met, Sirius? I’ll be fine. You take care of yourself, though!”

“I remember,” snorted Blaise, “we had to stop him from murdering someone. Ah, look who finally joins us.”

Theo slipped into the compartment silently, followed closely by Harry. “Sorry about Sirius and Moody,” apologized the Boy-Who-Lived, “they’re just… yeah.”

“I understand,” Theo nodded. There wasn’t much else one could say to that.

“He needn’t have worried though,” said Theo after a moment, “Even supposing that my father is working for You-Know-Who, kidnapping you now would be stupid.”

“How come?” asked Terry, “I thought he wanted Harry’s blood?”

“He wanted Harry’s blood for a resurrection ritual. But he doesn’t need it anymore,” said Theo freely. Drawing his wand, he cast an elegant privacy ward around the compartment perimeters. It spoke volume of his growing skills that he was able to do this almost casually. “Slytherin thought he probably used an alternative ritual. He’s definitely alive,” 

He tapped his foot thoughtfully. “But if I were him, I would lie low while I marshall my forces rather than jumping right into the thick of things. Convince everybody that I don’t exist until I have an army at my back. It’s what he did during the first war.” 

“That sounds sensible,” said Daphne. “Why invite resistance for himself when the Ministry is doing such a good job ignoring him?”

“Exactly. I think he will only make another pass at Harry when he wants everyone to start panicking, and he’s not ready for that yet.”

The rest of the group digested this. 

“Theo?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you know so much?”

Theo shrugged. “I don’t  _ know  _ anything, I’m just guessing. Slytherin also includes me sometimes when she’s speculating.”

Blaise’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“That’s … very liberal of her,” wondered Daphne, “She’s okay with giving you information like this?”

“She only shares what I’m allowed to know,” Theo tilted his head in an interesting manner that Hermione couldn’t immediately place. “I’m sure she has plenty of secrets that I won’t even know to ask about, and I respect that.”

“Hm.”

“Well, I wish Sirius would tell me half that much!” grumbled Harry before Hermione could ponder on that gesture further, “People come in and out of the house and none of them would tell me anything. I mean, I understand why they do it. I don’t expect them to tell me all their secret plans.” 

Theo and Terry nodded together.

“But it’s still frustrating when there’s a houseful of people giving each other significant looks whenever I walk into the room! I’m not completely incapable of keeping a secret.”

“What  _ are  _ you allowed to talk about?” asked Blaise, “your letters were squeaky clean.”

“They’re going to have someone watch over me on Hogsmeade visits.”

“Oh. That’s reassuring, I guess.”

Harry nodded wordlessly. Popping off his shoes, he curled his legs onto the bench underneath himself. “Yeah. That’s Moody for you.”

Terry gave him a look. “Yeah. Constant vigilance, am I right?”

“Feels strange,” muttered Blaise, “before, none of us knew anything. Now we’re all privy to different secrets.” And that meant keeping secrets from one another. 

But this had always been a challenge that the Nocturne Group would need to work through. Secrets came with growing up. Hermione’s young friends would have reached this stage sooner or later as they began to strike out on their own. 

Although, truth-be-told, it really wasn’t all that different than before. All of them had their own little secrets since year one. Harry had his parselmouth abilities and his private meetings with the Headmaster. Theo had his father’s involvement in the previous war. Blaise and Daphne had their own little maneuvers within their house. And as for herself? The less said about her the better. 

_ ‘Now you know. Welcome to my world,’  _ thought Hermione with a sheepish grin. It seemed to her that this moment of reckoning was less about keeping secrets from their friends, and more about realizing that everyone else had secrets of their own that they would probably never be privy to. 

Anthony threw up his hands. “What does it matter? The adults have their plans, we have ours. We’re still going to be focused on getting stronger and protecting each other, right?”

“That’s right,” nodded Daphne vigorously, “Our objective hasn’t changed. And by the time we’re out of school and in a position to do anything, the adults would’ve probably already settled their differences.”

“I concur,” beamed Hermione, “Whatever happens out there, I’m rooting for us.” The first step to making peace with one another’s differences was figuring out how to live within common grounds, and her friends were moving in this direction on their own. Now they just needed to stay on the right track.

“We’re the Nocturne Group, we make our own plans!”

“Hear hear!”

With that, the mood in the compartment became noticeably lighter. The conversation moved on to other topics, from homework to electives. Theo shared the new stealth enchantment technique that he’d been experimenting with over the summer. Inevitably, talks drifted back to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

“Who d’you think it is?” wondered Terry, “Any chance Professor Lupin is coming back?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s gone to teach at a different school.”

“Oh! Which one?” Anthony perked up with interest, “which one? Durmstrang?”

“No, he’s starting a new school for werewolves who can do magic,” shared Harry, “I’m not sure if he’s settled on a name yet.”

As a part of the deal that Hermione and Cassius Avery had made with the werewolf clans last year, she had promised them a teacher. It had taken no persuasion at all to get Dumbledore and Lupin completely on board with providing that teacher. Lupin had since happily settled into his new job, with the dual mission of running a school and gently encouraging the clans to stay on the right side. 

“So he’s headmaster now?” cheered Terry, “wicked!”

“He’s an amazing professor. I’m sure he’ll do great,” agreed Hermione. It was a win-win deal if there ever was one. Hopefully the clans would even teach Remus Lupin a thing or two about being comfortable with who he was.

“But who will be teaching  _ us _ ? Not Moody, I assume.”

“Probably not.”

“Please be someone good,” wished Anthony, “I don’t think I can stand going back to a buffoon like Quirrell after we’ve had Lupin and Moody.”

“I second that,” nodded Blaise, “ooh, the snack trolley!”

The rest of the trip flew by, and soon they were filing out of the train and into the thestral-drawn carriages that took them to the Hogwarts castle. Professor McGonagall greeted the students at the gate, but did not immediately lead them inside. 

“Welcome back,” said the Deputy Headmistress, projecting her voice to address the mass of students waiting below the stone steps, “It’s good to see all of you again after another summer. As we return to school, I remind you to refamiliarize yourselves with the school rules and behave accordingly.”

“Is it me, or does she seem a little off?” whispered Blaise.

“We are all here to learn from one another and help one another grow. If you encounter any problems at school, I expect you to approach the matter like mature young mages rather than juveniles.”

“You’re not wrong,” whispered Anthony, “she seems a little more wound up than usual.”

“Yeah,” said Harry quietly, “she used to give this speech inside, not out here.”

“I will also take this time to remind you that throughout the year, if you require assistance or have any concerns at all of any nature, your Heads of House are there to help you. Please do not hesitate to reach out to them. Thank you for your attention. Enjoy the feast.”

With that, McGonagall finally opened the gate with a wave, allowing the students to follow her across the drawbridge and into the castle. From there, they proceeded straight into the Great Hall and toward their respective house tables. Through the mass of bodies, Hermione spotted a very particular witch at the high table. Clad in bright pink and smiling sweetly from her chair beside Severus Snape, she stuck out like a sore thumb among the other professors. 

Hermione had an inkling why McGonagall might have chosen to give her start-of-year speech outside the castle. 

“Who’s that?” marvelled Lavender quietly, “and where in hell did she get that outfit?”

“Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic,” whispered Hermione. She was not unfamiliar with the woman. Her own faction had engaged in many verbal duels with her in the Wizengamot over matters concerning magical creatures. Umbridge was, to put it flatteringly, the Minister’s boldest and most ambitious sycophant. Her presence here could only mean one thing.

The Death Eaters, the Order of Phoenix, and the Neutral-Dark faction. Everyone had made their opening moves as of the summer. Now, it was the Ministry’s turn. 


End file.
